Changes Will Come
by Bangslover
Summary: Read and find out.


This is my first fic EVER. It was just an idea that popped into my head at, like, 11 yesterday night. I don't know if it's worth continuing, what do you think?

Title: Changes will Come

Rating: PG-13ish, there's language and some very touchy topics. Read at your own risk.

Author: Moi.

Summary: AU, I really don't know where I'm going with this.

Chapter: 1/(?)

Chapter: What is this feeling?

From the musical Wicked-

"_What is this feeling?_

_Fervid as a flame_

_Does it have a name?_

_Yes!_

_Loathing_

_Unadulterated loathing"_

Disclaimer: I own EVERYTHING! wakes up Damn, dreams never happen. I don't own South and all the clothing places I mention in this chapter. Don't sue; all I have is the spoon in my mouth.

She wrapped her fingers around the cold knob and pushed forward. Her steps were light and soft like a fairy. She walked into the first vacant stall and locked the door behind her. Fingers shoved down her back pocket to find her desired object. Aha, a broken razor from two weeks ago, just one of the many tools the blonde was use to. The sleeve of her black sweater rolled up slowly to her elbow to reveal battle scars dating back to eighth grade. She held onto the end of the silver object as she dragged it along white, pale flesh. Red liquid began to form and the girl flinched. Four years of this self inflicted pain and she was still not used to it. The door swung open suddenly and the blade dropped from her slender fingers. Feet stopped as they heard the clatter, on instinct the blondes hand shot down to pick it up. Her breaths were ragged and short, scared that someone may have caught her. The footsteps continued until they stopped in the stall next to her.

Spencer Carlin was oblivious, to lost in how far the blade could go into her arm without serious damage.

Knuckles turned ghostly as they squeezed the sides of the porcelain bowl tighter. 7 o' clock eggs and ham along with the newly added salad were emptied into what she considered "the holder of all secrets". She reached out to tear off a small piece of toilet paper, she wiped of her finger and dabbed the sides of her mouth. It was almost as if this was a professional sport, she got it done in a timely manner and was out the door, headed to AP Bio before most of her "crew" got there. The crew she'd been with since freshman year, full of Abercrombie, Lacoste, and Hollister clones, artificial shit she made herself become. The voice in the next stall was whimpering, probably just another pair of horny frosh looking for a place to fuck without getting caught. She unlatched the door and walked towards the line of tiled sinks, water came out of the faucets in a small trickle, four years at this damn school and the plumbing still wasn't meeting standard regulations. If King High were to close down her life would be so much better. Her hand pushed against the soap container but nothing came out but a squirt of what was left, she made use of it and cleaned her hands and then twirled around to grab a paper towel. A gust of wind hit her as the first stall flew open and the mystery girl collided into her.

"Watch where you're going dip shit," the brunette yelled as she pushed the other girl off of her to look at the culprits face. Spencer Carlin, junior, always dressed in black, secluded from the majority of King, what her "crew' would call an "emo freakazoid".

"I'm s..s..s..sorry," the younger girl stuttered. Bumping into this certain senior was a big no-no if you were smart enough to know that.

"I'm sure you are blondie," the venom in her voice fell of her tongue like acid rain drops. She got to her feet and brushed of the sides of her brand new American Eagle striped tank top.

The taller girl mumbled out her last words before walking out of the restroom to her 6th period, "God, you are a bitch." Her reputation had earned these fighting words, there was no getting around them, she was a bitch and she knew it with every dork she made fun of, all the artists she criticized, the gays and lesbians she made fun off day after day. Doing this made her the walking contradiction of the year, but no one needed to know that, and no one would.

"Fuck off cry baby," the words faded into the hallway as the door finally closed. Her Gucci bag laced with her fingers as she strode out and rushed to her class before the final bell rang.

Ashley Davies was not one to be late, and also not one to piss off, especially if this ever involved one Ms. Carlin.

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